


Torment

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3780643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brotherly quarrel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torment

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

"I do not know why you bother with me." He felt the slap, though it never reached him. Instead the table was hit, fiercely. Shock caused the grunt that escaped.

Boromir's eyes filled. "I am sorry, Faramir. I did not... Why do you say these things?" he hissed and Faramir knew that Boromir wanted to scream.

Faramir's brow crinkled. "I..."

Boromir's men turned away. Not oft did their captain lose his temper, but when he did, it was best they either did what was needed or made themselves scarce. Tonight, they made themselves scarce. The inn quickly emptied of its patrons, much to the innkeeper's chagrin. He waved to his staff and they began the nightly cleaning, sensibly ignoring the sons of the Steward.

"Nay. Speak not. I am ever the fool. It is not you." Boromir grit his teeth, then stood and pulled Faramir by the arm. Roughly, he led him into the back, into the brothel area. He opened a door and found a woman waiting. "Get out!" he roared; she left. The door, however, slammed behind her. He turned to Faramir. Rage filled him. 

"You encourage him with your subservience. Do you not know he longs for you to stand up to him! When you say things like that about yourself, I go mad. Faramir, look at yourself." He stood him before a mirror and held his chin up "Look! You are a son of Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith. You are not some fop, some ne'er-do-well. You are even more like unto him than I am!" 

Boromir turned in frustration and his brother's shoulders sagged. "Boromir?"

"What?" 

"His eyes burn into me."

"Oh!" Boromir cried, turned and took Faramir into his arms. "I know."

"What can I do?"

"You have looked into the faces of more Orcs than many can even imagine; you have ridden your horse into battles more fierce than the fires of Mount Doom; you have faced a Mûmak and lived. How can you ask, 'What can I do?'"

He walked away from his brother and sat heavily on the bed. "Stop seeing the wizard, stop quoting the wizard, stop trying to be like the wizard. You are captain of a garrison. Would he have given you that title and garrison if he did not believe in you? How is he supposed to act when you scorn him and his wisdom? Faramir," he said quietly, eyes filled with sadness, "You are his heir, if aught should happen to me." 

Faramir's face went white. 


End file.
